Miscellaneous One Shot Crossover Collection
by Aldrian Kyrrith
Summary: In one universe, Taylor Hebert got the ability to control bugs. But when was it ever presaged that she had to?
1. Forbidden Knowledge (Worm x Lovecraft)

Forbidden Knowledge

A Worm/Lovecraft Crossover

I was trapped inside that locker and the walls closed in. Covered in filth, the rancid smell of fermented blood and dry vomit assaulted my senses. I did not know at the time how long I was trapped in there. Days afterward, lying in a hospital bed, I was told that it had only been a few hours but at the time, overwhelmed by panic and despair, it felt like an eternity.

What was it like in that moment? I was angry, desperate to get out. I cried, called for help until my throat was raw and voice was hoarse. Still, no one came, and as time lingered, surrounded in the confines of the locker, I despaired. In retrospect I know now that those thoughts may have been a tad melodramatic. But in the bottom of my heart, there was the faint suspicion that I might die there.

So yes: I desperately wanted to get out. In a perfect world, someone would have come. Perhaps one of the students would have stood up to Sophia and Emma and released me no matter the consequences. I used to think that people were inherently good, that heroism was real, in such a silly cliché that there is still hope in the world. No one came.

At some point, the desire to escape became overwhelmed by an even deeper desire to understand. Of everyone at Winslow, Sophia had singled me out. True, I don't doubt she targeted others among my classmates, but the extremes to which she brought herself on that day… why would she do this to me? Why would she do this to anyone? And Emma. Emma had been my friend. Hell, she had been my only friend. What had I done to her that deserved such cruelty? Had I betrayed her some way? Was all this my fault?

Deep down, a single desire reverberated in my psyche: I didn't want to escape so much as I wanted to know; to understand. Why is the world the way it is? Why do friends betray friends, why do the Endbringers attack, why do millions around the world suffer in silence, dying in anonymity, squalor and despair? I wanted to know everything, and I wanted it so desperately. And as that desire, that need, crystallized in my head, I caught a glimmer, an image of a dance: of two vast creatures together in the void. And in that moment, seeing them dance, I saw something beyond, hidden in the vastness of space, embedded within the very tapestry of the universe itself.

Do not ask me to describe what I saw, for there are some things human beings are not meant to know; there are some things they should not have to know, and there are images that will be burned in my memory until I die.

You label me insane. Psychotic. Maybe schizophrenic as well. One hundred years ago, you would have locked me up in an asylum and thrown away the key. I can tell you though, that even though I am broken, I will freely admit that much, you can't help me. What I have come to know, what I wished to understand, is horror beyond the Endbringers themselves. You look at me when I say this, the skepticism is obvious on your face, and you ask me questions, trying to pry further answers, to understand what you believe to be delusions.

Fine, I will speak, though I do not expect you to understand. At that moment, in the locker, watching that dance in the heavens, I caught a glimpse of something behind it: something incomprehensibly vast lurking in the depths of the universe. And it was not alone.

Horrors are sleeping in the hidden depths of reality, waiting for the stars to align. And whoever is unfortunate enough to live in that time will be devoured. They have slept for millions, perhaps even billions, of years in secret places across this world, and every other world, and when they awaken… Let me put it this way: Leviathan, Simurgh, even the Great Beasts in the Ether: they will all be but prey. Food for horrors that will run rampant across the universe, reclaiming what was once theirs. What hope will humanity have when that moment comes, when we can barely hold off the Endbringers as it is? How will we hold off that flood, when we can barely keep the insects at bay? Or perhaps we will have been wiped out long before that point comes. Honestly, that would be the more merciful option.

You look at me, a glimmer of skepticism in your eyes. Don't bother denying it, I did not expect you to believe me. How could you? You weren't there. You didn't see what I saw. F %k, I wish I didn't see what I saw. The subject laughs bitterly In all honesty, I wish that was the worst that I knew. I asked for understanding, remember, for knowledge, but the Great Old Ones sleeping away for eons, waiting to rise and rampage, that's not really an answer, is it? Not to the questions I asked anyway. It's just a confirmation that civilization is damned, one way or another.

In itself, that would have been overwhelming. But it wasn't what broke me. That wasn't the worst thing that I saw… The subject is silent for a moment, apparently gathering herself, suddenly hesitant and afraid I beheld the face of God, the mind of the Creator, and in that moment it all made sense. Why the world is such a hellhole.

People have the underlying assumption that God is good, but look at this world and tell me: do you honestly believe that's true? The reality is, the cold unyielding truth that I learned: God is a lunatic, a petty creature of unlimited power that created the universe on a whim, without even realizing it, focused so much as It is on Its own petty entertainments, like a child kicking down anthills. That's all we are. Momentary diversions for a drooling idiot, if It cares to note us at all.

Perhaps that doesn't sound so terrible to you. Philosophers have discussed such matters in theory after all. Maybe you'd find the idea unpalatable, but hardly something to inspire madness. Then again, you didn't see what I saw. You didn't hear what I heard. The cacophony, the insanity, the warped depravity of it all: you can't possibly comprehend something of that scale, and I can't adequately explain it. There are no words in the human vocabulary that could describe the sheer awesome horror of such things.

You look at me with such concern, as you take down a record of our session. Perhaps as you set about recording this entire conversation, or at least my half of it. Don't bother lying to me: you don't believe me. I wouldn't either, were I you. I'm not asking you to, but you wish to understand what you believe to be my delusions. You think you can help me, somehow restore my sanity, make me fit to reintegrate into society, but you can't. Honestly, Taylor Hebert died in that locker, and I'm all that remains of her. I am past saving. So please, stop these interviews. Stop trying to know, to understand, to help.

You'll be happier being ignorant. I know I was.


	2. The Hunger Birds (Worm x Neil Gaiman)

The Hunger Birds

A Crossover between Worm & Neil Gaiman's _The Ocean at the End of the Lane_.

One day, not so different from any other day, Cauldron took note of a most unusual scene: Scion, the Golden Man, the enemy of the world, had frozen mid flight with its face etched in a parody of terror. It was only a moment before he was once again on the move, headed towards the next emergency, but it was a momentous realization, and Doctor Mother was chilled by its implications.

Scion was afraid. What could that possibly mean?

LLLLL

Taylor Hebert kept her head down as she walked, trying her best to ignore the voices: those skittering, crawling, crying, screaming whispers that besieged her mind. It was a continuous onslaught which seemed destined to drive her mad, and it required all of her concentration and willpower just to keep her sanity in check.

The nightmare had started so long ago, back when Sophia had first shoved her in that locker. Trapped beneath the festering wastes, she had begged for help, and, somehow, her calls had been answered, though not in the manner she would have wished. She had first started hearing those voices in that moment, trapped and helpless and utterly desperate: voices that sounded like nails scratching on a chalkboard, like cannon fire, and like the harsh winds of a winter's gale. There was nothing human in those voices and they spoke to her endlessly, relentlessly, ever since.

"We have our responsibilities," the voices, simultaneously one and a thousand coaxed, demanded, whispered and screamed into her dreams. "And so do you. This world is broken. Contaminated. Release us, to set things right."

"We hunger," the voices called from the darkness around her. "Let us out so we might feed."

"You are in pain, agony. Human minds cannot contract with those such as Us. Let us out, so that you would know peace."

Every night, in her dreams, Taylor faced that unfathomable shadow, those inhuman voices begging, pleading, demanding, wheedling, insisting and threatening her all at once. Every night, she refused, and every morning, her conviction grew just a little bit weaker, and those voices became just a little more convincing.

LLLLL

Taylor Hebert stalked through Winslow High School, as if in a daze. Her grades had plummeted and whenever teachers would call on her, they would only receive a glassy eyed stare and an occasional pithy comment devoid of enthusiasm.

Madison, Sophia and Emma continued their bullying campaign: they set glue on her seat and poured juice down her hair. They inundated her with cruel japes and revealed her most closely guarded secrets for all to hear. Yet no matter what they did, no matter what torments they deigned to unleash, Taylor Hebert never showed the slightest response. Once their cruelties defined her life, but now all of Taylor's energies were spent resisting the voices.

"Is this world truly worth protecting?" the voices insisted. "A world with people such as Emma? A world with people such as Jack Slash? A world with endbringers? It is a broken world, you must admit. Let us fix it. Set things back in order. That is what we do. Do you not wish to fix the world?"

It was then her mother's voice that spoke to her, cutting through her fogged mind. "Please Taylor, don't allow yourself to keep suffering like this. They're too strong, and eventually they'll destroy you. Just give in. No one would think less of you for it."

"You're not my mother," Taylor insisted, and for the first time in a long time, her deadened eyes showed a spark of real intensity. "Tempt me, threaten me, scream at me if you will, but don't you fucking dare degrade her memory."

"Very well," the voices agreed. "But you weaken. You cannot hold out much longer. Soon you will free us."

"Perhaps, but not today, and not now."

LLLLL

Danny Hebert noted his daughter's increasing reticence, her growing isolation from the world. It had begun with the locker incident, and with each day Taylor was looking just a bit more depleted. She ate little, she slept little, and she spoke hardly at all. Danny was afraid: he was losing his daughter and, while he tried to intervene, tried to talk with her, and at one point, he even attempted to get her some professional counseling. Nothing worked. She refused to speak with him about her troubles, to let him help her, to share her burden. He was at his wit's end, and he did not know what he could do when she so insisted upon suffering alone.

LLLLL

Weeks have passed since the locker incident, but for Taylor it feels more like years, more like centuries. Each morning, she finds herself feeling a bit more stretched and worn about the edges, and she knows that she has been brought to her breaking point. And the voices realize this as well, just as certainly as she does. Taylor tells herself that most minds would have broken long ago under so much pressure but this is little consolation. She only hopes that her fears are misplaced, and that things will turn out for the best. She knows that hope for the gentle lie it is.

And so the wheedling, the threats, the cries continue and her eyes cloud over with tears because what could she have possibly done to deserve this fate? Why was she, and she alone, chosen to hold back the apocalypse? And how could she have ever hoped to succeed in such an impossible task?

And then, her musings are interrupted, as the sirens blast through her despair and even the voices are momentarily silenced. Before she knows it, she is standing on the streets of Brockton Bay as an endbringer draws near. She stands there, her hair flying in the gale, her body pelted by the torrential downpour, paralyzed by rage and despair.

The streets are a sight of panic. She vaguely notes a hand on her shoulder, trying to drag her towards the nearest shelter, but she stands there, in silent refusal, and the grip relaxes as her would be rescuer moves on. With grim determination, she walks against the crowd, making her way towards the docks. If this is going to be her final day, she will meet it head on, and, though she does not know it, she is wearing a crazed smile, framed by a stream of rain and tears. She is just so tired of the struggle.

Finally, after what seems like an eternity, she sees it: Leviathan. Vast and terrible and utterly wrong, it is toying with the capes. It lashes out with tidal waves and she knows deep down that her city, along with everyone she's ever known, will be annihilated. Brockton Bay will shortly join the ranks of Kyushu and Newfoundland: casualties to the endbringers.

"This is the world you wish to protect?" the voices whisper in her mind once more, and she feels her resistance crumble, just as surely as the city does around her. "Release us. Let us do our duty. Let us fix things."

She knows their words to be truth but, at the same time, she knows that their promise is not a benign one. They would fix the world, but they would do so by unmaking it. Yet she is so tired of fighting, and looking at the scene before her, she tells herself that the world is doomed anyway. The endbringers will win. At least this way, something might be salvaged from the rubble. The alternative is oblivion.

"Yes. Resistance is hopeless. Let us do our duty, and set things back in order."

Exhausted by the endless struggle, and embittered by its thankless reward, Taylor relents.

"I release you," she whispers, and she feels a light go out within her. "Come, and do what you will."

The invitation has been sent and the Hunger Birds take flight.

LLLLL

One moment, Alexandria is raining blows upon Leviathan, trying to herd it away from the city, back towards the ocean. The next, she is frozen, paralyzed by terror and indecision. At first she despairs, thinking that the endbringer has unleashed yet one more trick from its endless collection. Then, she realizes that the monster is just as paralyzed as she is. Its face points skywards, the battle seemingly forgotten. She follows its gaze, and her eyes lock with the maddening, indescribable horror taking root above.

A single shadowy shape was coalescing above the capes, comprised of a hundred, a thousand, or perhaps a million eldritch terrors which flocked above them, filling the skies. At first, she thinks they resembled birds, as black and unfathomable as a starless night, albeit featureless beyond that basic outline. She amends her initial observation: these creatures were nothing more than the base imitations of birds, or perhaps birds were little more than base imitations of them.

"We hunger," the creatures speak and, to her horror, Alexandria catches a glimpse of a thousand tentacled maws opening at once, eager to feast. She cannot tell whether there had been a single voice or ten or a thousand, just as she could not be certain whether it is a single creature or a multitude. This is something beyond endbringers, beyond Scion; something older and beyond human comprehension. She looks towards David, frozen with terror, his entire body beset by uncontrollable tremors, and she wonders, briefly and bemusedly, what the Number Man, or Contessa, would make of the scene.

And then, like a voracious flock of sea gulls, the creatures descend as one. They fall upon the endbringer, and upon the parahumans fighting it, merciless and pitiless as a hurricane. Alexandria feels her power torn away from her, and as her augmented mind begins to fade, she asks single question: _is this how it ends_?

She is unable to stop the Hunger Birds. They devour her, along with Leviathan and all the capes of Brockton Bay.

LLLLL

An insatiable hunger seemed to encompass the world, endless in size and scope, consuming everything in its path. Parahumans tried to resist, but they were powerless, for there are some things which cannot be fought. And the Hunger Birds swarmed, through this world, and through all others which had been touched by Scion and by Eden. And they fed. A golden man screamed in agony, and then, in a flash of light, vanished, to be seen no more.

And then they were gone, as instantaneously as they appeared. The world continued to turn, normality restored, free of the endbringers, free of the golden idol, and bereft of parahumans. It was as if they had never been, for no mortal being retained those memories and few held the slightest belief that such fantasies were even remotely possible.

Yet, forever on, all of humanity would share an inexplicable fear of the skies and of the dark, and in every city in every country across the Earth, people continued to report vivid dreams of an unfathomable shadow, a ravenous hunger, and the faint outline of birds.


	3. Look Upon My Works (Doctor Who)

**Look Upon My Works, Ye Mighty, and Despair**

**Crossover: Doctor Who**

Across a thousand universes, two entities danced in twine. They had been born in the muddied oceans of a small grey planet orbiting a dying star, galaxies and universes away. That star and that planet no longer exist; they haven't for millions of years. But the entities remain, and still they dance.

From one planet to another they traverse the heavens, expanding upon their knowledge of the cosmos in a ceaseless attempt to satiate an all encompassing hunger. With an explosion of energy, they fall upon other worlds, rich with life and civilization, and they watch and they learn and they plunder. A select few cultures have been fortunate enough to drive them off, and a still smaller handful has even survived the experience. Still, the cycle continues and, in a universe much too crowded for their liking, the entities hunger.

They collect knowledge as they go: they plunder the collective scientific knowledge from a million different worlds, stripping away all that is irrelevant and subjective so that only the data remains. That they keep.

And yet, on rare occasions, there are discrepancies within the cycle: exceptional circumstances which even they cannot predict.

Once, hundreds of cycles past, the Entities came across the ruins of a destroyed planet, its atmosphere a flaming inferno and its continents rent asunder. They had only recently selected it as an optimal harvesting ground. It had been home to a society whose recorded history extended more than ten millennia, and was on the precipice of mastering interstellar travel. There should have been billions of intelligent sapients there waiting to be harvested. They found none.

For a moment the entities despaired. Then they found the saucer shaped spacecraft. Left in orbit around the planet, the derelict vessel was largely undamaged. But it harbored technology which exceeded anything the Entities had ever seen and a knowledge base they could not even begin to comprehend.

The cycle continued, and the entities moved on to other worlds, but the saucer's scientific and cultural legacy they left intact. They understood too little to strip it down, to risk losing something vital. Perhaps one day, hundreds of thousands of years to come, the knowledge there would provide the solution they so desperately craved. Until then, they could only wait.

L

L

Ever since she had been dragged out of that locker, kicking and screaming with teary eyes and bloody knuckles, Taylor Hebert had changed.

She fell unconscious soon after her escape and, as she slept, she had the strangest vision: a thousand voices, enraged and hateful, all demanded that she act. That she do something terrible. They were not human voices either; they were mechanical, like they were produced out of a synthesizer of some kind. It was only a dream, she told herself the following morning. A strange, creepy one, but a dream nonetheless. It didn't mean anything.

It meant everything.

She spent two days in a hospital bed, where she was subjected to a full battery of antibiotics and every test the doctors could conceive. Luckily, they all came back clean. Handed a full bill of health, Taylor Hebert quickly found herself back in Winslow. She was more than a little bitter about it.

That morning began like any other as she approached the schoolyard, preparing herself for the worst. The trio hadn't broken her yet and, as terrible as they could be, she found it difficult to believe that even they could top what they had done with her locker. But then, on her way to first period, she caught Emma with a satisfied smirk on her face. In that moment, she felt a deep and terrible rage. She wanted to kill her. She _needed_ to kill her. Emma wasn't worthy to live. None of them were. They all needed to be exterminated. And she would do it. Clean and efficient. It would be so easy. All she needed to do was…

She startled, and sprinted into the nearest bathroom as fast as she could, where she locked herself in the nearest stall and threw up. She returned to the sinks, scrubbing her face as she tried to wrest back control of her thoughts.

"What the hell was that?" she demanded. She had never been a violent person before and, while she could cognitively understand that being stuffed in a locker would have some serious psychological effects on the victim, she did not want to turn a monster. But the truth was impossible to deny: a large part of her had wanted to kill them: the trio, the teachers, the other students. Everyone. And worst still, that bloodthirsty part of her honestly believed those murders would be more a service than a crime.

"Get a hold of yourself Taylor," she said with a shake of her head. "Just bite down and persevere: like you've always done. You'll get through this. Just as you've gotten through everything else."

_Because you're weak. Inferior_, a voice insisted from the corners of her mind, its voice a harsh staccato that sounded like a synthesizer. _You will be strong. And we will revive_. L L

Taylor had changed since the locker and it wasn't just the hatred, or that mechanical voice which only she could hear. She was smarter now than she had been before; so much smarter than she had ever believed possible.

After a few days, she stopped going to school altogether. She had noticed herself becoming colder, more calculating and more hateful with every second she spent in that place. And it wasn't just aimed at the Trio. She hated all of them: the teachers, the students, the janitors, the administrators, the nurses. Every single human being in Brockton Bay. And why shouldn't she? They were weak. Pathetic. Inferior. And it's not like she needed them anymore anyway.

She ran away from home as well. Under cover of darkness, unable to look her father in the eye, she packed her belongings and left. She couldn't risk what she might do to him once her self control slipped. It was only a matter of time, she knew, before that hatred subsumed her entirely, and she didn't want him there when it did.

She relocated to the Boat Graveyard and there she worked. Isolated, she was able to let her mind run wild and she lost herself in a creative frenzy. She drafted blueprints by the hundreds: ray guns and spaceship and bombs that could crack the planet in half.

She drew a strange mutated creature that looked kind of like the deformed husk of an octopus, resting within a metallic casing resembling a pepper pot. And as ridiculous as it looked, that pot shaped travel machine became her greatest obsession at all. She drafted its blueprints dozens of times over, trying to find the best way to usher its design into reality.

Imperfection was not an option.

L

L

Days turned into weeks turned into months. Taylor Hebert was named to the missing persons list but, in a city as troubled as Brockton Bay was, that didn't amount to much. The search was eventually called off, and she was presumed deceased: another victim in one of the endless gang wars which plagued the community.

And all that while, with a crazed look in her eye, Taylor continued her exertions. The first thing she built was a time dilation device. It was inelegant, she would admit, and she could think of a thousand ways to improve it: to make it run just a bit more effectively. But she ignored the urge to tinker. It was sufficient for her needs, and it gave her the time she needed to work uninterrupted. She had more important projects to pursue.

She never left her workspace except for the rare food run, and soon enough, she found ways to get around even those. Human biology was so inefficient, and Taylor could not accept that weakness. So she discarded it, just as she planned to discard everything weak and human about her former self. She would retain only was necessary to survive. She would be stronger. Superior.

Ceaselessly, she set about bringing her blueprints into reality. And all the while her masterpiece neared completion. Reverently, she caressed the near finished travel machine, a wide grin on her face. True: the wires were still exposed and the outer casing was only half done, but those details did not faze her. Soon she would mutate her body, and cast off her humanity altogether. She couldn't wait.

She got back to work.

L

L

Tattletale would be lying if she said she wasn't nervous. Hell, Lung was calling for blood and that was reason enough for any sane person to run the other way. And yet, she and the others had decided to dive right in the thick of things.

Yeah. It probably wasn't their best idea.

They were tense as the dogs, grown to the size of vans, approached ABB territory. It was quiet: eerily so. And her power was freaking out about something. She alerted the others but they all moved ahead anyway. They had come too far to turn back now.

The dogs seemed to sense something was off, and they slowed down, lowering their heads submissively and whimpering. Bitch had to force them forwards.

Yeah. So not a good plan.

A few minutes later, they came across the bodies, each one in ABB colors. There were dozens of corpses strewn haphazardly upon the pavement. They had died quickly, their faces frozen in terror or disbelief, but Tattletale could discern no cause of death. There were no bullet or knife wounds, no burns, not even any apparent signs of struggle. They were just dead. No explanation as to how.

She saw Oni Lee and Lung among the corpses.

"Guys," she spoke, breaking the disturbed silence. "We should get out of here. Now."

Grue nodded his agreement, but it was too late. Something descended from the rooftops, levitating down towards them and settling in the middle of the carnage.

It should have looked ridiculous, but it was the most terrifying thing Tattletale had ever seen, and not even Regent could bring it within himself to make jokes about its appearance. It was shaped like a pepper pot, silver and black, and it had landed right in the center of the massacre. Its cranial plating swiveled around, taking in its surroundings through a glowing eye stalk. It turned its eye upon them, and Tattletale found herself locked in its gaze.

It spoke to them in a shrieking, mechanical voice. "YOU. ARE. IN-TRUDERS."

Grue stepped forward to speak to… whatever the hell that thing was that had just eradicated the ABB. His pose was non-confrontational, but Tattletale's power told her that such gestures would be for naught. She kept her gaze riveted on the ABB's executioner and her power spun out of control. In an intense burst of insight the likes of which she had never imagined it even capable of, her power told her impossible things about impossible sciences and an impossible war which raged throughout the universe, across all of time and space. On a normal day she would have discarded those inductions as fantasies, but somehow, this time, she knew they were all too accurate.

Just as she knew that this creature, this nightmare of a thousand worlds, this _Dalek_, had only a single purpose to its existence. And there was nothing she could do, no single weakness, psychological or otherwise, she could exploit to save her team, or even just herself.

Something broke inside of her. "So this is how it ends? Gunned down by a pepper pot of all things."

"Tattletale?" Grue turned to her for an explanation. An answer. Anything. She turned and smiled at him, but it was brittle, and there were tears in her eyes.

The Dalek screeched, and she knew the end had come.

"EX-TER-MIN-ATE."

L

L

a/n: While I intend to add to this collection over time, this will probably be the last chapter for the foreseeable future. Thank you to those who took the time reading these stories. Needless to say, I own none of the universes or characters in these stories.


	4. Monsters in Her Mind (Lovecraft)

A riff on Helnae's _Starry Eyes,_ re-posted with her permission,inspired by the work of Neil Gaiman. Disclaimer: I own neither Worm nor Lovecraft. Neither, naturally, do I own Helnae's _Starry Eyes_. But I have taken a certain fancy to my own head canon surrounding Helnae's tale, in which Taylor is unknowingly the awakened form of Yog Sothoth. If you haven't read the original story, I'd fully endorse checking it out.

* * *

The Monsters in Her Mind

When she was a child, Taylor Hebert dreamt terrible visions of a vast blackness, filled with countless monsters that defied the imagination. Sometimes they spoke to her, whispering and screaming and growling in a thousand tongues that had never before been heard by human ears, but which she could understand with crystal clarity. They swore oaths of fealty and built altars made of blood and bone, and they bled black ichor into the emptiness in which they dwelt.

And Taylor, a child who was not a child but something utterly other, walked amongst them. And she was pleased.

And every morning, the child would wake up in tears and run to her mother and explain just how horrible and utterly wrong those dreams were. She was afraid to fall asleep, knowing what horrors and wonders and impossible vistas awaited her. She was afraid to fall asleep, knowing as she did that there was something in that dream more terrible and fearsome than all the monsters and the giants and the impossibilities that filled that place, and that something was her. She was afraid to fall asleep, for every moment she closed her eyes, she feared that, in the coming morning, she would no longer be herself but something else entirely.

The dreams were a constant childhood companion, and they were especially vivid in the days before she became friends with Emma. The monsters who gathered around her, vast and terrible and so eager to please, were her only friends, and that made those dreams all the more horrible, for what kind of child can only make friends with the monsters?

But as we grow older, our childhood fantasies melt away, forgotten and lost somewhere in the dusty corners of our minds. So it went with Taylor, and over the many years that followed, she gradually forgot the monsters in her dreams, and she forgot the abyss that existed somewhere within and beyond herself. And deep within her subconscious, something vast and incomprehensible, something that had just been starting to stir from an eternal slumber, fell back into a more restful sleep.

Her life took a turn for the worst when her mother died and her best and only friend, Emma, abandoned and betrayed her. Every day became a struggle, as she endured the taunts and abuse of someone who she trusted. With no one left to turn to, she could only grit her teeth and endure.

And at night, those forgotten dreams of childhood began to return. The first came the night her mother died, and as she found herself more and more isolated, stripped of all trust and devoid of any real hope, those dreams became more frequent, and more alluring.

When she was a child, she hated them and she feared them and she wanted nothing at all to do with them. Now, she welcomed them. The thing that was both her and not her wandered the temples of flesh and ichor and it was pleased. It walked amongst the monsters innumerable, which gathered around her in rapt, terrified worship and it felt companionship.

And every morning, when Taylor woke up from one of those dreams, she found herself wishing that she could return to sleep. It was a strange existence, and anyone else would find it to be a nightmarish one, but for her, it seemed right. This was the world she belonged to, and it was here that she felt at home.

And all the while, that terrible consciousness that lurked in the dark twisted corners of that young girl's mind began once more to stir.

Taylor Hebert was stuck in a locker, and something else, something that was simultaneously Taylor and yet so much more than Taylor, awoke.

And the universe despaired.


	5. Taking Flight (animorphism-folklore)

A/N: Okay, so I'll admit, this one's not a crossover. Taylor gets a different power.

** Taking Flight**

Once there lived a girl, and she felt trapped and overwhelmed. And she was gifted with a most incredible power.

Now, Taylor never saw herself as somebody special, for all she lived in a world where a select few people could fly, or teleport, or push the boundaries of invention into the territory of a science fiction novel. She never realized that awesome potential which she had been gifted. Perhaps, in a different world, she may have been the catalyst for something amazing and tragic and terrible. Perhaps she could have become one of her world's greatest and most admired heroes, or most feared and terrible villains. Perhaps she could have been both and, perhaps, she could have saved them all.

But that would be a different story.

You see Taylor, for all she could have been, was a victim above all else. She had been betrayed by her closest friend, bullied and brought low, and for her suffering she could find no solace. For years, she trudged on, and with each day her world grew a little bit bleaker. And then came the day she broke, when they locked her in a metal cage, and left her to stew. Alone and forgotten.

She was trapped for hours, in that dank, metal box, and she cried and called for help, and she thought about how miserable and lonely and loathful her life had become. And as she despaired, she saw a most strange and wondrous apparition. And then, she felt something inside of her shift.

She was desperate for an escape, for the freedom to move, and then the world expanded all around her, until that tiny metal box became itself an entire world. She treaded across vast fields of fabric on six chitin legs, looking upon her world through many eyes. Then, with gossamer wings, she took flight, escaped her box, and found herself lost in an even greater vastness.

And something within her shifted again, and the world shrank back into place, and where there had been a tiny insect, there now stood a blood stained girl, who laughed and cried and collapsed inwards upon herself, trying to make sense of what had just become of her. She thought back on her life, back towards the bullies and the teachers who stood aside and the students who watched. She thought back to a distant father and a mother long dead. She thought about the future – of another four years of this, with nothing better to look forward to.

And she thought about that one brief but wondrous moment, where she was no longer Taylor Hebert. How freeing it was. How simple.

And for once, a smile broke out across her face because, for the first time in a long time, she had hope.

Taylor headed to the showers, cleansing herself of all that blood and decay, and of that hopeless child she once had been but would be no more. Then, finally pristine, or as pristine as she could make herself in the time she had, Taylor Hebert walked out of that place for the last time.

She arched her head upwards, taking in that sky, so vast and so clear, expanding into the horizon. And something shifted in her appearance, as her proportions shrank and her feet became talons and her arms became wings and her mouth a vicious beak. And then Taylor ruffled her feathers and took to the skies, leaving the vestiges of her human life far behind.

They found her clothes the following morning, with no trace of the girl who owned them.

The people of Brockton Bay never saw the girl-child Taylor Hebert again.

But on occasion, they would spot the passing of a great hawk which soared above the waves, always alone and majestic and free.

There once was a girl who suffered, but now that girl no longer exists. She hasn't for years. And she's all the happier for it.


	6. Alien Encounters (Dr Who meets Cauldron)

Alien Encounters (Worm x Doctor Who)

* * *

A/N: another special exception, as this fic doesn't feature Taylor at all... but I wanted to throw Cauldron a bit of an outside-context problem to deal with.

* * *

In his office the Number Man frowned, looking over the data feed once more. It was inexplicable, and it should have been impossible, but the readings were indisputable. Someone had managed to infiltrate Cauldron, and was at that very moment disabling the security overrides to the containment cells, trying to orchestrate a break out.

At his order, a gateway through space-time appeared before him and, in stepping through it, the Number Man crossed continents, and found himself behind the intruder. He had a revolver pointed at the man.

"Turn around and step aside, if you'd please," he ordered.

The man turned around, and while he wasn't what could be called conventionally handsome, his features were certainly memorable. Wild hair and big eyes, wearing a most ridiculous scarf around his neck that dragged across the floor, twenty feet in length. Quite impractical, but it certainly said something about the man that wore it.

"How wonderful!" the intruder exclaimed. "I didn't even see you come in."

"Funny," the Number Man replied deadpan. "Neither did I."

He frowned, studying the intruder intently. "You seem awfully calm about being held at gunpoint," he observed.

A third voice intruded upon the scene, "It wouldn't be the first time."

The Cauldron operative turned around, surprised to find a young girl with scraggly blonde hair and a taste in clothing just as bohemian as her counterpart. He hadn't even noticed her approach.

"Oh, let me do introductions," the man said while his back was turned. "I'm the doctor, that's Romana, and this is our kidnapper. Say hello to the nice man, Romana."

"Hello," she said, apparently dismissing the Number Man, for her attention seemed focused on the Doctor. "He doesn't look the most imaginative sort."

"He does give accountant vibes, I suppose," the Doctor admitted.

"Remember Paris? Now there was a villain with style. Even if I still say that Mona Lisa is dreadfully overrated."

The Doctor harrumphed, "We're not getting into that argument again."

The Number Man watched with detached fascination as his two _captives_ continued to bicker back and forth, ignoring his presence. No raised heartbeats, no signs of perspiration or tension in the face. Nothing to suggest even the slightest hints of anxiety.

And then there were the other things: the odd proportions of their bodies, with rib cages too broad and fingers ever so spread ever so slightly too far apart.

Double heart beats.

He interrupted their conversation, speaking in the same matter of fact tone other people would use to discuss the weather. "I do wonder what brings two extraterrestrials to this planet."

"Oh, you figured it out?" the doctor asked with a big grin, apparently delighted.

"It wasn't too hard an induction," the Number Man admitted. They were certainly not one of Cauldron's, and in any case, he clearly faced a male and female of the same species.

Agents certainly never worked in so conventional a fashion.

It was Romana who then spoke up, "What do you know? This one does have imagination after all."

"Romana," the Doctor said. "Be gracious. We're guests after all."

"I meant it as a compliment."

The Number Man reasserted control of the situation. "What are you doing here?"

The Doctor looked befuddled for a moment. "Here? I don't even know where here is. Do you, Romana?"

She shook her head.

"Forgive me if I don't believe you," the Number Man pointed out. "Not when you were disabling the security locks in our containment wards."

A wry smile crossed the Doctor's face, "You do know what they say. Prisons are awfully unkind places."

Romana chirped up, "Plus, the Doctor likes pressing buttons."

"Oh, certainly. Why, I've never met a button I didn't want to push."

"Tell me about it. You nearly crashed the TARDIS that last time…"

"Tardis?" the Number Man asked, mildly bemused. It wasn't often he was left so flummoxed, unable to effectively control the situation.

Not without killing the two at least.

"Time And Relative Dimension in Space," the female intoned. She looked at him expectantly, with a gaze that was suddenly intense. "Does that mean anything to you?"

Fascinating. Implications that these aliens had advanced knowledge in higher dimension physics. If they could be controlled, they could certainly become assets in Cauldron's design.

"Well," the Doctor intruded upon his pensive silence. "That's not a reaction I'm used to getting."

"It seems like he understands," Romana agreed.

"Your words have interesting connotations," the Number Man said. "I'd like to hear more about this TARDIS."

"Oh, I don't know," the Doctor pointed out. "Whenever I discuss the TARDIS with most people, I find they tend to get rather glassy eyed and confused."

"I'm not most people."

The Doctor paused, and it was Romana who spoke next. "He is the one holding the gun, Doctor."

The Number Man quirked a small smile. "It seems one of you has some sense after all."

"Delightful," the Doctor exclaimed, excited once more. "He has a sense of humor after all."

"Or I could just blow your brains out right now," the Number Man pointed out, still businesslike. He wouldn't really do so, of course. Not unless it became absolutely necessary. But it would be interesting to see how these two would respond to so blatant a threat to their lives.

"But you wouldn't though," Romana said, smirking smugly. "You'll want answers first."

The Number Man was silent, as he studied the pair before him, and they studied him.

He was impressed. They acted relaxed enough, but he had seen past the masks they wore. Always calculating, those two were. Running the numbers, continually judging their options and making contingencies, much like him.

They just hid it better.

Romana smiled, and there was something shark-like in it this time. "This one _is_ impressive. Most of your sort, I find, are far too self absorbed to figure us out."

"My sort?"

"Megalomaniacs," she answered.

The Number Man adjusted his glasses. "Obfuscation. Your favorite tactic, I would assume."

The Doctor seemed to deflate. "I see Romana was right. You have figured us out."

Another lie. He had it well, but the Number Man had decoded the strange pair's subtle body language, and could now get a read on them. Whatever he was playing at, the Doctor was, in truth, far from defeated.

But the Number Man was content to play along, and find out just what the man's game was.

"You did admirably," he admitted. "Nearly fooled me as well."

The Doctor shared a wide, toothy grin, intended to disarm. "Most are."

The Number Man repeated the same words he had spoken earlier in the conversation. "I'm not most people."

There was a tense silence, and then the Doctor voiced his surrender. "You intend to see the TARDIS for yourself."

"I intend to know what you are," the Number Man corrected. "How you came here, and what your purpose is."

"Then you'd need to see that TARDIS," the Doctor insisted.

It was a trap, and an obvious one at that, and the Doctor certainly knew that he was aware of it. Nevertheless, sometimes it was best to spring such traps, and Cauldron had never been an organization that eschewed risk. Sometimes they were worth taking, and in the Number Man's opinion, this was one of those times.

"Show me," he said.

The two aliens did. They took him up to a police box, a 1960's relic of the United Kingdom, and then they opened the door…

And the Number Man stepped into impossibility, where all the laws of mathematics as he knew them were discarded. His power went wild, trying to make some sense of this place, this small infinity cramped within so tiny a cage. Trying to figure it out.

He ran the numbers, but they didn't compute. Missing data. Needs additional input. He reran them once more, but still they didn't work. The Numbers didn't add up, and yet he could see them all around him, equations that didn't go together, yet did. Mathematics he couldn't understand, but still he tried, as he ran those numbers again and again, his brain trying to make sense of the data all around him, and of knowledge which fell far beyond the ken of human comprehension.

And then he saw a vision, as he triggered for a second time, and his power shorted out. His eyes rolled back into his head and he collapsed on the floor, unconscious.

He didn't come to until six hours and thirty four minutes had passed, and by that time, the intruders were both gone, as were many of Cauldron's human resources. But it wasn't too much of a loss, all things considered.

He ran the mathematics in his head, finding his power now worked faster, more efficiently, that he could carry the calculations so much further, and that he could now run a near countless number of them all at once.

And he had no doubt that, with time, he could get it to do so much more as well.

It would take him time to figure out the full scope of his new abilities but this… this could be useful.

But first he needed to speak with Doctor Mother and Contessa, alert them to these latest complications, and then he would resume his work.

"Door me," he said.

And the Number Man was gone.


End file.
